I went to the communal printer at work to pick up my progress notes, and one of the bilingual therapists was sorting through the pile. She looks at me, then looks at the notes I just printed out:
Therapist: You are Zamora? (rolls "r" beautifully)
Me: Yep.
Therapist: Stares at me. Stares at the note. Stares at me again.
Me: My husband is Hispanic.
Therapist: Oh! Okay. (walks away, her sense of what is right in the world restored)
I think I just experienced my first racial profiling.
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